So, what makes this photo of a frumpy chair worthy of a post, you might ask? A really good laugh, that's what!
So part of my weekend included going to the dumpster to unload some trash and junk collected in my truck. Upon arriving at the dumpster, I discovered this old, red velvet covered chair in the extreme bottom of the "green box." Well you know me, saving the world one vintage/antique piece at a time; I sat there, trying to figure out a way to get it out by my onesie. The sides of the "green box" are a good seven or eight feet tall, well over my head, and slick metal. It is the big kind they bring in on a tractor trailer and leave until it is full, then cart it away to the landfill.
I looked around.
Nobody in sight.
I thought about going home and fetching Kevin back to help me. But then I knew what he'd say - "Why do you have to have that piece of junk? Here's the checkbook - go buy one from somewhere else, in better shape....."
I could climb down there, throw it out, and pile up some other junk to get out. But I was wearing flip flops - not good for climbing.
A search of my truck revealed a shovel from the barn with a handle on it. I could maneuver myself down far enough to catch the leg of the chair, and hoist it up........
So grasping the shovel in one hand, and bracing myself against the rim of the green box with one knee, I balanced on the edge with one leg flung behind for balance, and eased myself halfway down the slick wall of the dumpster, reaching my shovel handle out for the chair leg. At some point, these fleeting thoughts raced through my brain:
"Maybe I should have put my cell phone in my pocket in case I fall in here and need to call for a rescue."
"What if I fall in here and get hurt - is this stupid chair worth it?"
"How long will it take for them to miss me, and will they know to come looking in the dumpster?"
And, of course, "What must I look like, perching here on the edge of the dumpster with my butt in the wind?" (Vain, I know.)
A couple of tries, and I had it by the leg. I hoisted it up just enough that I could snatch it with my free hand and haul it over the side, into the truck.
Gloating over my prize, and laughing at the thought of what that must have looked like to a passer-by, I went home.
There was Kevin, with my brother, Eli, in the driveway, working on a piece of farm machinery. Kevin glanced at the frumpy, desheveled chair in the truck and glanced at me. Laughing, I told them the story. "That's the last time you go to the dumpster by yourself," Kevin said. If the worst had happened, I can just see him, telling his buddies at work, "Yeah.... I had to rescue my wife from the bottom of the dumpster this weekend, after she was missing for hours, and we looked all over creation for her, and the State Police were called.....all on account of a worthless, broken, vintage chair."
"That is just like Mom," Eli said. "When we lived in Miami, Mom got stuff from the dumpster all the time." I remember Mom regailing me with stories of her dumpster tresures fromMiami. I think she still has some of the stuff.
Anyway, I don't know what I am going to do with the old thing; it was in worse shape than I thought at first. The seat is stuffed with horse hair, so it is pretty old. Maybe I'll paint the wood after it is repaired, and upholster it with something else..... butI'll be darned if I throw it out, after all the trouble I went through to get it!